


Blue Day

by Rachel3003



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/F, Happy Ending, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Maria Rambeau Needs a Hug, Monica Rambeau Needs a Hug, Sad, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25287841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachel3003/pseuds/Rachel3003
Summary: Monica's meltdown.
Relationships: Carol Danvers & Maria Rambeau, Carol Danvers & Maria Rambeau & Monica Rambeau, Carol Danvers & Monica Rambeau, Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau
Kudos: 40





	Blue Day

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, folks! Long time no see! I know it's been months since I've been around, between studying for the exams to enter university and my absolute lack of inspiration, all my WiPs have been collecting dust, a LOT of dust.
> 
> Anyway, now I'm done with the exams (the results come on the 27th, pray for me) and the inspiration seems to be back (for the moment). Let's see how long it lasts.
> 
> PS: I may be starting again with the WAHEO series, but don't hold your breath. We'll take baby steps and see how it goes.

When it finally happens, Maria isn’t all that surprised. Honestly, she’s surprised it’s taken this long. It’s been a week since she told Monica, and her child hasn’t even cried. Not one single tear. When she’d told her, she’d just looked at her with those big, brown eyes of hers as Maria tried to hold herself together for her daughter, be strong for her, but she’d just blinked and gone back to her drawing. It had taken a few seconds for Maria to realize that her little girl was in shock, and she’s been waiting for her to crack for six gruesome days.

She’d spend the first two on pins and needles, jumping at every little sound, either expecting Monica to crack or Carol to walk through the door, and each time neither happened she’d had to excuse herself to cry alone in her bedroom or the bathroom. To cry for her baby girl, still too small to understand that her Mama, her ‘Auntie’, won’t ever come back, won’t ever read her at bedtime again, won’t ever tell her about the stars and the planets, won’t ever build another pillow fort, won’t ever kiss or hug her again. To cry for Carol, her lover, her partner, her _wife_ in every way but legally; so full of life, with so many dreams and hopes and laughter and joy. To cry for herself, left behind with a child, a broken home, and a series of documents that are not enough to describe just how big Carol had been.

She spends the next four planning the funeral, ordering Carol’s favorite flowers, selecting the casket that’s going to get buried empty, signing the NDAs the Air Force puts in front of her, accepting the check, handing in her resignation even though she’s not finished her mandatory service time, packing everything they still had at the base. She loses an hour when she cleans out Carol’s locker, crying over every shirt and bra and picture that had been left there. She accepts the scorched dog tags and the ring that had been retrieved by the search party without a word, grateful to the rookie beyond words for hiding them from the higher-ups. And through it all, Monica stays silent, no tears, no sobs, no words. She just looks at Maria, at the door, at the boxes in the living room.

So when Monica starts to tremble from where she stands next to her, listening to the priest spew some bullshit about Carol being in a better place, she’s not surprised. When big, fat tears start to roll down her little cheeks, she’s not surprised. What does surprise her, though, is when Monica starts screaming.

“NO!” her voice carries across the cemetery and makes the priest stop mid-sentence. She yanks her little hand from Maria’s and runs to the man, pushing him back and away from the casket. He stumbles back, but he looks sad, rather than affronted. “You’re lying!”

“Monica...” whispers Maria, her eyes sore from so much crying but watering once more. “Baby, please.”

“ _NO!_ ” her voice is shrill, and when she looks at Maria her heart breaks all over again. Her baby, her happy, carefree baby looks so grief-ridden, so betrayed. “You’re lying, she’s not gone!!! She _promised_!!!”

And then she turns and moves so fast no one has a chance to stop her. Little Monica, barely five years old, with her short chubby arms and heaving chest, pushes at the casket and topples it over. It falls open, and Maria only has a second to curse at the idiot that didn’t screw it shut before Monica is shrieking even louder than before. She rushes to her and manages to snatch her up before she can crawl inside the empty coffin.

“Where’s my Auntie?! I want my Auntie!!! Give me my Auntie, give. HER. _BACK!!!_ ” In her distress, Monica manages to hit a pitch that makes the priest flinch. Maria cradles her close, silent tears falling down her cheeks as her little girl struggles in her arms, wailing at the top of her lungs for a woman she will never see again.

She steps back as a few of their friends step forward to right the casket and close it. James’ eyes are red and he squeezes them shut when Monica screams for her Auntie, a small tear escaping to roll down his cheek. Maria hugs her close, pressing her daughter’s face to her neck and lets her cry. They wait until she’s so exhausted she can’t cry anymore and slumps in her arms, small whimpers leaving her lips and silent tears still running down her face. The priest finishes quietly, almost whispering in his effort not to disturb the child. Maria is so grateful she’d hug him if her arms weren’t full.

It’s over before she knows it; she accepts the folded flag, drops two fistfuls of dirt over the polished wood, and walks away, unable to stay there one second longer. James appears at her side a second later and gently steers her towards his car. She’s so exhausted she doesn’t even argue. She gets into the back seat with Monica still in her arms, unable and unwilling to let go of her still crying little girl, and lets James drive her back to her house. She hasn’t seen him since Basic, and he’s grown into his uniform. She hates that this is what has brought them together again; she hates that Carol won’t ever see him finally get that growth spurt he’d been missing. Monica sniffles and curls in her lap, forming a little ball.

“Mama…” she murmurs, her chubby fingers fisting the lapel of her dress blues. Maria, holding back tears of her own, smooths down Monica’s unruly hair and presses a kiss to her brow. She attempts to dry her cheeks, but the tears keep flowing even though she’s asleep.

She doesn’t know how they get home, doesn’t remember giving James the address, but they get there unscathed and that’s what matters, in the end. James doesn’t say a word when he sees there are only two bedrooms and that Carol obviously lived here. He doesn’t say a word about the boxes she’s already started to pack, getting ready to go back to Louisiana. He doesn’t say a thing about the matching Happy Mother’s day drawings on the fridge, and Maria loves him for it. 

She remembers that short, skinny boy she met on Basic, three years her junior and a month behind her on training; remembers how he never told them women shouldn’t fly, how he never made suggestive or inappropriate comments, how he seemed to admire them just as much if not more than the men in their squad. She finds herself proud of the man he’s grown into. She knows Carol would too.

He leaves without fanfare, just a short hug and an offer to talk or a hand if she needs either. She’s left in her house, with her child still clutched to her chest, murmuring for her mama, surrounded by their things, the home they built together, and her heart flutters. The insane thought that this is wrong, that Carol’s not dead, she’s out there somewhere, has her sobbing into Monica’s hair.

How is she going to do this without her?

* * *

Carol’s been back for two weeks when she asks to see her grave. It takes Maria by surprise, but in retrospect, it shouldn’t have. She’d been wondering what to do with it –should they leave it? Take it down? What?–, so the fact that Carol’s thoughts have been in the same place, just like they used to be, goes to show just how in tune they still are, even after six years.

They decide to make a weekend out of it: Monica had already asked to have a sleepover at her grandparents, so they don’t have to tell her she’s getting left behind. Maria doesn’t know how Carol’s going to react, but she’d rather her child doesn’t see the reminder of what they went through.

Carol flies them over and they get a room in a nearby B&B. They spend the first afternoon walking around, Maria pointing at things and Carol trying to remember. They pass in front of their old home, and Carol pauses there for a second, her brow furrowed in thought, but continues without a word.

Maria sleeps fitfully, her body aware that Carol’s near but not close enough. She watches her sleep in the bed next to hers, separated only by the nightstand, and longs to slip in with her, curl around her, kiss her. She fails to see that Carol’s awake too, kept from sleep by an unseen force that tells her something’s wrong, she’s too cold, her arms are too empty, her legs are too free. Her eyes flash and she sees warmth and legs twined with her own and breath against her neck. She sees laughing eyes and feels a smile pressed against her lips. The fear that it’s a dream instead of a memory keeps her from telling Maria.

They visit the cemetery the next morning after breakfast and Maria holds Carol’s hand when they stand in front of the stone.

“Who came?” she finally asks, and Maria has to strain to hear her. She answers in an equally quiet voice.

“Not a lot of people, I wanted to keep it small: a few friends from the bar, Lawson’s CO, James… my parents wanted to come, but money was tight at that time so they couldn’t make it.”

“And my parents?” it stumps Maria for a second –why the hell would you want your parents there?–, but then remembers that _Carol_ doesn’t remember, and squeezes her hand.

“No, you didn’t get on well with them, and I didn’t want them at your funeral.” her voice is clipped, and Carol caresses the nack of her hand with her thumb.

“No, I mean… I remember some of my childhood, how my father was… I know we weren’t on speaking terms. I just wanted to know if they’d found out.”

“I don’t know if they were informed, but you stated very clearly in your will that they weren’t to get anything from you, not even your medals or wings.” Carol nods and goes back to looking at her grave.

“And the flag?”

“I have it.” Carol nods again, her hand tightening around her own. She takes a chance and steps closer, curling her free arm around then one she’s already holding and rests her head against the shoulder. Just a second after she settles into the position, Carol presses her cheek to the top of her head and releases a big breath, her entire body sagging.

“I want to go home.” she says after some time, her voice small and tentative.

“Ok, let’s go home.”


End file.
